


Things Could Be Stranger

by WildfireKhaleesi



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016), Stranger Things AU - Fandom, Stranger Things x Superhero Crossover
Genre: Angst, Antiheroes, Callahan - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Hopper - Freeform, Jim Hopper - Freeform, Jonathan Byers - Freeform, Multi, Reader Insert, Smut, Steve Harrington - Freeform, Stranger Things 2, Stranger Things AU, Superheroes, Villains, Violence, Y/N L/N - Freeform, abuse tw, billy hargrove - Freeform, claudia henderson - Freeform, dustin henderson - Freeform, eleven - Freeform, erica sinclair - Freeform, eventual hopper/reader, flo, karen wheeler - Freeform, lonnie byers - Freeform, lucas sinclair - Freeform, martin brenner - Freeform, max mayfield - Freeform, mike wheeler - Freeform, mr sinclair, mrs sinclair - Freeform, nancy wheeler - Freeform, powell - Freeform, reader - Freeform, stranger things, stranger things fan fic, superhero au, ted wheeler - Freeform, will byers - Freeform, y/n, you - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-15 05:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13024059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildfireKhaleesi/pseuds/WildfireKhaleesi
Summary: Stranger Things Superhero AU. Hopper moved to New York from Hawkins to get rid of the emotional baggage rendering him ineffective, but one woman’s workplace incident seems to recount awful memories. Are their pasts more intertwined than originally thought?





	1. Pilot

He steps out of his run down apartments, long legged and overly exerted. The previous night had been a bit of a doozy for him, what with the rampant New York City crime rate spiking to disparate heights.

New York City was admittedly no Hawkins, Indiana, but what he went through at Hawkins was far too emotionally charged to warrant him staying put. He’d managed to put his family’s life in danger, losing his wife and daughter in his recklessness.

He pushes the thought out of his mind, lighting a cigarette and taking a deep drag. He’d already decided Brenner would pay for what he’d done; there was no need to dwell on what had happened.

His truck is covered in snow, which would frustrate your normal day-to-day individual, but Hopper struts up to it, mindlessly flicking loose ash from the end of his cigarette. He checks his surroundings, and lifts his truck to where it’s on its side; snow cascading off of the roof and hood.

Once the obstruction is cleared, he sets the truck back against the asphalt and lightly opens the door in hopes of not unhinging it again.

He manages, thankfully, and climbs in. What does frustrate Hopper however, is when his truck neglects to start once he turns the key in the ignition. He’d have to exert his other ability if he wanted to get to his next bodyguard gig in time.

He huffs loudly, but calms down once he realizes that he’ll be hard to spot at this time of night. Aiming for the sky above him, he jumps, and he doesn’t come back down.  
******

“I’m here!” You shout, bursting through the door of the bar that your friend Joyce owns.

“You’re late.” She smirks, hugging you lightly, grateful that you did manage to show up, all things considered.

“I missed you.” You smile, squeezing her small frame against yours. “How’re Will and Jonathan?”

She shrugs at you when you guys pull away, “Lonnie isn’t fighting for custody, so I guess that’s a win. I think they’re just confused.”

You nod, knowing all too well how confusing divorce could be on children.

“How was the funeral? You know-”

“Don’t.” You interrupt. “Just, don’t. It was difficult enough dealing with it all weekend. I don’t think my brain can take thinking about them for another minute.”

Joyce smiles gently at you, squeezing your shoulder empathetically before handing you a towel to wipe down the bar counter with. You give her an appreciative smile before turning on your heels and starting your chore.

The last thing you’d wanted to think about was the passing of your best friend, but it’s impossible not to think about her. You haven’t even been able to say her name, in your head or out loud since her freak accident.

You’d begged her not to take the job in Indiana, knowing fully well that the hospital in Hawkins had a bad reputation; but she was relentless in furthering her medicinal career. She left with a hop and a skip, tension high between the both of you, and now she was gone.

The counters are spotless by the time a new customer, well, customers, walk in. They’re all grimaces and official looking, black suits and the whole nine yards. The man towards the middle stood out however.

His suit was black, but the tie and the pocket square were bright blue, and he looked overtly well-groomed. Hair white and slicked back, face pointed and slightly wrinkled. Far too put together to be in the mix with the rest of them.

“Evening, gentlemen, got anything I can make you?” You ask, smile broad as you try and earn their appreciation; tips weren’t as easy to come by in this day and age.

“Scotch on the rocks, for me.” The middlemost man says, voice sing songy and irritating.

“Anything for the rest of you?”

“They’ll each have water, thanks.”

You ignore the creepy smile the small man sends your way and turn around, preparing their drinks.

“How’s your night going, hon’?”

A flicker of anger sparks at his pet name, but you stomp it out immediately. This guy just didn’t sit well with you.

“My shift just started,” you answer, not meeting his stone cold blue eyed gaze.

“Ah, I see. Not much of a talker? We can adjust that, can’t we boys?”

You peak out of the corner of your eyes and see how all of the men with him nod in unison. Your blood runs cold but you’re damn thankful that Joyce left to run errands.

“Turn around.” He orders.

Your head feels light, actually, your whole body feels light and you hardly register what you’re doing as you turn and face him, mentally frozen.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N L/N.” You answer far too willingly.

“Y/N? That’s got a pretty ring to it, don’t you think, boys?”

They mimic their unified nod, and your heart flips as it clicks. Mind control.

“Y/N, you were mean to me, and I do not like when women don’t appreciate my attention, do you understand?”

You nod, hairs standing on edge.

“Now, I’d like you to hit your head, hard, against this counter, can you do that?”

You nod again, mentally screaming and begging yourself not to.

The last thing you remember is the cold of the wood meeting your forehead in a harsh wack.  
******

He’s passing over the fifth block from his apartments when he sees the police lights outside of Bottled Byers, the bar that Mr. Sinclair, Hop’s boss, had taken him after his first day of work. He knows Sinclair will be mad if he’s late, but something about the bar is drawing him in, and before he knows it he’s landing in the alley next to the pub.

“Did you see the man who did this to you?” He hears an officer ask.

“Yeah,” a small voice answers, feminine and irritated, “I told your shithead officer buddy over there. White hair, blue eyes, real asshole persona,”

Hopper’s spine prickles at the description, because fuck, that sounds like Brenner. The passing months had done nothing to dull his hatred for the man.

“That’s all?” The officer asks, clearly annoyed.

“He was wearing a nice suit?” She adds carefully, “blue pocket square and tie.”

Hopper’s hands curl into fists, anger running rampant through his body.

“Now, if you’re done interrogating me, I really need to go in and sop up my blood before my boss gets back. Who even called you guys?”

“Passerby said they saw you collapsed in the bar when they came in for a drink, called it in immediately.”

“Didn’t even think to help me up? Chivalrous.”

Hop loosens his hands at the wit dripping from this woman’s tongue, wetting his lip as he continues to eavesdrop.

“So, can I go Detective…what is it again?”

“Callahan.” The officer answers impatiently, bravado obviously injured at the woman’s lack of discretion, and Hop likes her already. Callahan was always giving people shit.

“Whatever, can I go?”

“Yeah, you can go.”

Hop listens to the woman’s footsteps fade away before the click of a walkie talkie interrupts the exit he’s about to make.

“Hey, Flo… Yeah… It’s Officer Callahan…” He harumphs, poor bastard. “Yeah, sounds like that asshole is back… Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Hopper jumps again, but turns once he’s in the sky, this time heading back home; work could wait.


	2. Discovery

He opens his apartment door, heading straight for the kitchen cupboard where he leaves his strongest whiskey. The couch groans as he settles into it, taking a long pull of the amber liquid straight from the bottle.   
He hisses at the potency of the alcohol appreciatively, anger slowly bubbling with each languid swallow.   
Hopper knows he shouldn’t feed into this, it’s too soon to dredge up memories of Sara and Diane, but he pulls the polaroid picture out from the small box under the couch all the same.   
He’s acutely aware of the hairband he dons around his left wrist, bright blue and thin. Sara had wanted him to keep hold of it while she played at the park, and so he did. He hasn’t taken it off since.   
He shakes his head and sets the glass bottle on the table along with the old photo, and collapses in on himself. Breathless gasps escaping his mouth as he cries.  
Moments like this are hands down the ones where he’s the weakest, and they’re scarce; only occurring when he looks at the damned family portrait.   
If Brenner was here, then the woman that was attacked at Bottled Byers wasn’t attacked by coincidence, and she definitely wasn’t safe.   
He pulls his shitty cell phone out from his pocket, dialing the number that he’s known all too well for far too long.   
“Hey, Calvin, it’s Jim, I got a favor to ask.”   
******  
The bruise on your temple is black and purple, big and ugly; contrasting harshly against your seemingly soft features. The stitches along where your hairline meets your forehead are nearly invisible at least.   
You cover the bruising lightly with some foundation, not wanting the large patch of discolored skin to prevent you from earning any tips on your first day back at the bar.   
Joyce had been a complete mess when she had returned to the bar two nights ago, forcing you into the back of her Bronco and heading immediately for the emergency room. She was livid that the officers hadn’t insisted that you’d seen a doctor, calling and complaining to the Chief of police. She was especially upset when you did in fact need stitches.   
She’d basically forced you into taking two days off, which seemed ridiculous to you considering that you’d just come back from a four day leave in Boston after attending a funeral. Joyce was relentless in her persistence, and wouldn’t take no as an answer.   
You’d agreed reluctantly, spending your two free days entertaining yourself.   
You eye your hairbrush, running it carefully through your hair one more time as your toothbrush works against your teeth.   
Once you’re dressed and presentable enough you head for your kitchen and pop a slice of last night’s pizza in a container, shoving it into your purse and closing your eyes.   
When you open them you’re in the alleyway next to Bottled Byers and you have five minutes to kill before your shift starts.   
“So that’s why Brenner was so interested, eh?”   
You jump at the deep voice, scared to turn around because it could be one of the men from the other night. At least you’re more prepared now, telekinesis and teleportation could actually be useful.  
You eye the man suspiciously when you turn around, not recognizing him.   
“Who the hell are you?”   
He eyes you over, weighing his options in his mind before answering, “Jim Hopper.”   
“Well, Jim Hopper, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”   
“The attack the other night? You’re the woman who was attacked, right?”   
You nod reproachfully at him, anticipating his next move.   
“The guy who did this,” he motions towards his forehead, “to you. He was after you for the shit you can do.”   
Your brows furrow at his assumption, “the hell makes you think that?”   
“The Brenner I knew was a self-serving and manipulative dude. Figuratively and literally speaking…”   
The gears in your head turn at that, because Jim’s assertions add up.   
“What do you want from me?”   
“I just want to talk.” He answers honestly, shrugging his shoulders, “figured your workplace might be the easiest for it, was just on my way in when you poofed into existence in front of me.”   
“Well, Jim, I’m Y/N, you can come in for a drink and talk to me, but I’m not guaranteeing you’ll learn anything new from my answers.”   
He nods at you, smirking, “call me Hopper or Hop, Jim really isn’t my favorite. You guys serve good scotch?”   
Joyce nods when you enter the bar, gaze widening when Hopper follows you in, because in all of the years of him living in New York City, he’d never enjoyed the company of anyone.   
You smile at your boss, taking glasses from long vacated tables and running them to the sink. Hopper watches you warily, noting way Joyce is watching you.   
“So, you know the guys who did this to me?” You ask, turning and grabbing him a glass, pouring an appreciative amount of scotch into it and passing it to him from across the bar.   
“Guys? It wasn’t just Brenner?”   
“Now, wait, which one’s Brenner?” You ask, before realizing he can’t answer that and then adding, “I mean, what’s he look like?”   
“White hair, real douche bag appeal,” Hopper answers, taking a swig of his drink.   
“Ah, okay. Yeah, he’s the one who did the damage. Well- I mean, technically I did the damage.”   
“He’s a real bastard.” Hopper nods, “he’s always had a penchant for forcing people to do stuff they don’t like. But you said there was more than one?” You nod. “Okay, how many others? What’d they look like?”   
He watches you chew at your lip momentarily, rummaging your mind in search of the details he’s asked for.  
“There were four aside from Brenner,” you speak lowly, “they were all dressed in suits, real weird looking considering that we’re in a very low budget corner of the city. All men. All big.”  
“And they didn’t say anything?”   
“No, only nodded when he asked them questions. How do you know about Brenner?”   
Hopper downs another swig of the fiery alcohol before meeting your gaze, of course you’d want to know this, he was stupid not to realize that ahead of time.   
“He killed some people close to me in Indiana…”   
“Wait, hold the train- Indiana?” You ask incredulously.   
“Yeah, why-”  
“Where in Indiana?”   
He notes the urgency in your voice, and his nerves are on edge.   
“Hawkins.” He answers, concerned when your face pales. “What’s wrong? Y/N?”   
“Just, uh, my friend...J-Jessica, she recently moved to Hawkins when she got an apprenticeship at a hospital there. She died a week ago.”   
“Did she know about your abilities?” He asks, standing up and surveying his surroundings.   
“Yes.” You breathe out, insides screaming at you to leave now while you can.   
“We need to get out of here. Now.” He warns you, and you watch as a large black SUV pulls up in front of the bar.   
“Joyce, come here.”   
“But we have customers-”   
“Now, Joyce!” You shout, grabbing her hand and holding out your other for Hopper. He eyes it questionably, “for fucks sake, just trust me!”   
His hand finds yours, “close your eyes, both of you.”   
You hope they do, and then you close your own, picturing the high school a few blocks down, the three of you disappear from the bar, not a trace left behind.


End file.
